"There ain't no money in poetry. / That's what sets the poet free. / I've had all the freedom I can stand." -Guy Clark in "Cold Dog Soup"
She gleans hundreds of comments because she can write. I feel like an imposter when I scan her blog posts like they're any old cheap, chatty update on life. I read her latest post from the end to the beginning because I caught a line and tasted the quality, and I had to have more. One doesn't skim poignancy. So I moved up, up, up, and saw how she had molded her thoughts into art.
I had to admit I'm a little like the poor, lost, fallen people our waiter was talking about last weekend. He used to be an artist; now he just works at Fiorella's Jack Stack Barbecue -- which, if you have to be a waiter, at least that's a place with food worth its salt. But our waiter said he's not an artist anymore. People don't care about beautiful things. They only want ugly things -- that's what he said. He said we live in a fallen world where beauty isn't valued. But it'll be redeemed. It'll be redeemed. And then he walked away with our smeary plates of bones and barbecue sauce.
I cling to my words, and I hope for art. But on the days when I'm feeling weak and tired, when I'm in subordination to tasks instead of Beauty, I just serve my tables and wait for redemption.
2 comments:
One could argue, perhaps, that some of the food served at Fiorella's JackStack is, in fact, a form of art?
At least, I think so.
I understand my brother and sister-in-law were able to enjoy some time with Isaiah recently while you and Kyle enjoyed some good bbq. I berated them for having taken no photos of the one they described as "the most beautiful little boy!"
Dona,
LOL! We have some pictures of RIBS from the weekend. They don't really look like art, but if you TASTE them...
(The "beautiful little boy" did not act very beautifully today. I'm glad he was better for your brother's family. They are sweetest people. We appreciated their help so much!)
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